


Amaurosis Scacchistica

by Mertiya



Series: antipositional play [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Misunderstanding, Post-Game(s), Relationship Advice, gratuitous chess metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Amaurosis scacchistica</em>, or <em> chess blindness </em>, refers to a condition in which a player fails to make an obviously good move, or alternatively makes the stupidest move possible.  Or both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amaurosis Scacchistica

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh, I just cannot stop writing this couple. Why are they so ridiculously adorable? Also, John and Karkat appear to have snuck in for the ride.

            You are Karkat Vantas, and you have just been woken up by the repeated gonging noise of the doorbell.  You are pretty groggy, and when you glance over at your clock, you are not surprised, because it is apparently three in the morning.  Who the fuck is ringing the doorbell at three a.m.?

            You curl up in your sopor cocoon and try to stuff your ears and ignore it.  This turns out to be impossible, and pretty soon, whoever it is starts pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell at the same time.  It sounds like they are trying to batter the door down.

            Okay, you are officially awake now and getting kind of worried.  Maybe something really bad has happened (although, seriously, why not just call you on the phone or something?).  With a groan, you clamber out of your cocoon, throw on a robe and patter downstairs, splattering slime over everything.

            You yank the door open to see Jack Noir leaning on your doorbell.  He is dripping bright red blood all over the stupid ‘welcome’ mat that John gave you from underneath the long trenchcoat he is wearing.

            “Jesus!” you say.  “What the fuck happened to you?”

            “Listen, kid, I need some advice,” Jack says matter-of-factly.

            “Jack, it’s three in the morning,” you point out.  “And you’re bleeding.”

            He gives you a glower, and you remember he doesn’t go by Jack anymore.  “I need some fucking advice, kid.”

            You can tell he’s not going to go away and let you sleep and besides, he really shouldn’t be wandering around bleeding like that, so you grudgingly step back and let him come inside.  “I’ll go find the bandages,” you say.

            “That’s not important right now,” he says urgently.

            “I DON’T WANT YOU DRIPPING BLOOD ALL OVER MY CARPET,” you shout.  “JESUS, I’M ALREADY GOING TO HAVE TO CLEAN THAT STUPID WELCOME-MAT FROM JOHN.  SO DON’T BE A DOUCHE-NOZZLE AND LET ME GET THE GODDAMN BANDAGES.”

            He reaches for the pocket where he usually keeps his knife but comes up emptyhanded, so you drag him inside and shove him toward the living room.  Jesus, this stupid house is way too big for you.  You wish you would just fucking troll up and ask John to sleep over sometime.  You just don’t really want to fuck this up, after he spent however fucking long protesting he “wasn’t a homosexual,” whatever the hell that even means.

            You realize that you’re grumbling nonsense to yourself as you go into the bathroom and grab the bandages from the shelf.  When you get back into the living room, you see that Jack has thrown himself down onto the couch and is occupying himself by repeatedly hitting the arm.  His trenchcoat has fallen open slightly and you can see that not only is he bleeding, he has a knife sticking up out of his leg.  Also that, unless you are very much mistaken, that trenchcoat is the _only_ thing he’s wearing.

            “WHY THE GODDAMN FUCK AREN’T YOU WEARING CLOTHES?” you shout, throwing the bandages at his head.  “AND GET THAT KNIFE OUT OF YOUR LEG.”

            “I TOLD YOU I NEEDED SOME FUCKING ADVICE!” Jack yells back.  “AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE THE GODDAMN ABERCROMBIE OF ROMANCE?”

            Okay, this tells you a few things.  One, Jack was being literal when he said he needed ‘fucking advice.’  Oh, Jesus.  Two, either Jack has finally snapped or an Abercrombie is not just some kind of shitty human clothing store, the way you’ve been led to believe.

            “Urrrrrrrrgh,” you groan.  “There is no way in hell I am going to put bandages on you when you’re naked.  AND I’M NOT GIVING YOU ADVICE WHILE YOU’RE STILL DRIPPING RED CARAPACE FLUID ALL OVER MY HOUSE.  SO STOP ACTING LIKE A PANSY AND BANDAGE YOURSELF UP AND WE’LL SEE.”

            He snarls at you.  “I could murder you right here, kid,” he snaps.

            “Then who would give you advice?” you snap right back and curl up in the living room chair and sulk and yawn while he mutters to himself and takes the knife out of his leg and wraps it up.  You’ve almost managed to fall asleep again when the roll of bandages hits you upside the head.

            “Happy now?” Jack snarls.

            “FUCKING GIDDY,” you retort.  “What do you think?  It’s three in the fucking morning.  What kind of lame nook-wriggling assjack is banging on someone’s door at three in the fucking morning?”

            Jack throws himself forward and puts his head in his hands.  “The kind of patsy who’s gone dizzy about a dame and doesn’t know what to do about it.”

            Oh god.  Jack is _angsting_.  This is not supposed to be a carapace thing.  Not a Dersite thing, anyway.  You can just tell from the way everything about him is _drooping_ that you aren’t going to be able to get rid of him easily, which means you are not getting any sleep tonight.  Well.  What are friends for, you guess.

            “What’s the problem?” you ask, finally giving up.

            “You get this flushed romance thing, right, kid?”

            “Uh, sure,” you say, trying not to let your mind wander back to the really incredibly lame and awkward kiss you and John had last month.  Your teeth clacked together and you sort of knocked against his glasses and they nearly fell off and it was the most ridiculously happy-making experience that you have had in—oh, Christ, you said you _weren’t going to think about this right now_.

            “So how the hell does it work?”

            “What?” you ask.  “You and PM were doing great the last time I saw you.”

            “Sure, I know you get your babe flowers and all, and go on dates and all that jazz,” Jack says.  “That’s not a problem.  But when it comes to pitching woo…”

            “To _what_?” you say.

            He gives you an irritated look.  “Making whoopee!”

            You blink at him.  You are seriously never going to understand where he gets these weird expressions from.

            “ARGH, FUCKING!” he shouts finally.

            Fuck.  Now you’re blushing.  But okay, you may not have personal experience in this particular area, but you sure as hell aren’t going to mention that.  And you’ve watched enough troll romantic comedies (and now human romantic comedies as well) that you’re pretty sure you’ve got the ideas down pat.

            “Okay,” you say.  “I’m not a huge expert on carapacians, but I _thought_ you and the Black Queen did that all the time.”

            “That’s the problem, egghead,” he snaps.  Where the hell does he get his insults from anyways?  You make a mental note to give him some pointers in the future.  Not right now, though.

            You sigh.  “ _What_ ’s the problem?”

            “Snowman and I were what you call kismeses.  We spent the time trying to fucking kill each other.”

            Oh.  Right.  Crossing the quadrants would be pretty bad.  You don’t think PM would take it really well.  “Right,” you say.  “So, uh, do the same thing, only minus the trying to kill her part.”

            “But then what am I _doing_?” he says plaintively. 

            “The same bulge-whiffing thing!”

            “I’m afraid I’ll hurt her!” he bursts out.  Oh, holy shit.  Jack Noir has it _really_ bad.

            You think for a minute.  This is sort of like the plot of _A Tyrannous Highblood Becomes Flushed for a Gentle Lowblood Girl Who Teaches Him to Understand Relationships Other Than Those in the Black Quadrant, Before a Series of Misunderstandings Leads Him into a Quadrant Oscillation With Her and His Highblooded Kismesis.  Everything is Finally Resolved When He and His Kismesis Get an Auspicistice and His Kismesis Becomes His Matesprit’s Kismesis._ Yeah, actually Jack sounds a lot like troll Harrison Ford before all the misunderstandings when the flushed relationship was just starting out.  Man, you need to see that movie again.

            “So, you have to do the same things only be gentle,” you tell him.  “You could try letting her take the lead.”

            “That’s crazy!” he snaps.

            “No, no,” you say.  You’re starting to warm up to this now.  You are definitely feeling like troll Morgan Freeman, in fact.  A _sleepy_ troll Morgan Freeman, but still.  “See, you want to fight somebody, right?  That’s what all your instincts are saying.  So you fight yourself to let her take control!”  That wasn’t _quite_ verbatim from the movie, but Jack is looking at you funny and you quickly modify your voice so it doesn’t sound like a bad troll Morgan Freeman impression.  “Anyways.  Yeah.”

            “You really think that would work?”

            “Yeah.  If you don’t fuck it up.”

            “Shut up, kid,” he growls.

            “Seriously, what kind of idiot has to ask a vir—someone half his age for sex advice?”

            “What kind of idiot can’t even get up the guts to ask his boyfriend to stay over?” Jack grins at you and holds up your journal, which, fuck, you did leave in the living room, because there’s NEVER ANYONE IN HERE.  “Thanks for the advice, kid.  I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

            It’s a good thing he takes his knife with him when he heads for the door, because otherwise you might have tried to plant it right back into his leg.  After he leaves, you take your journal and throw it against the wall and then storm back up to your room.

            Before you get back into your cocoon, you open your laptop and type out a quick message.

            HEY JOHN.  DO YOU WANT TO MAYBE STAY OVER TOMORROW NIGHT?  I’M FEELING KIND OF LONELY.

            You press send before realizing what a lame little grubling you sound and then you spend the rest of the night trying to sleep and hating your past self.

~

            You are the Parcel Mistress, and you are sniffling.  You have been sniffling for a while.  Actually, when you came in this morning, WV asked if you had a cold, but you said no, you were just a little bit sad.  WV got all solicitous immediately, of course and said he could close up shop if you needed to talk, but of course you said no.  It can wait!

            WV’s restaurant is kind of amazing, actually.  He makes all kinds of delicious soup, and it’s getting to be pretty famous, especially the stuff that is inspired by the human cultures of Asia.  People come from all over the city now just to sample the recipes of Cantownese Cuisine.  Seeing all the people here even early in the morning makes you really happy for your friend.  But you’re still kind of sad.

            You and Spades have been getting pretty close lately.  You started having practice swordfights, which turned out to be a lot of fun, and you had dinner together six days last week.  Also, the last three days he came over to dinner at your house and didn’t actually leave again.  You ended up falling asleep curled up together on the couch.

            You had also been doing a lot of kissing.  You discovered you really like kissing him, and you thought he pretty much felt the same way.  But you weren’t really getting past kissing, and you weren’t getting frustrated by that, exactly, but you thought that he might be getting a little bored, and, besides, you thought it might be fun to explore certain less-than-entirely-clothed alternatives.  Also you thought the look on his face would be pretty great.

            Well, you were right about that anyways.  You were sort of falling asleep on the couch watching a movie called _The Big Sleep_ that Spades seemed to find fascinating that you were having trouble following.  You’d asked WV about Dersite romantic habits the day before because you had heard all sorts of things, and you really didn’t want to mess this up.

            What he told you was not entirely reassuring.  Apparently, Dersites tend to go in for something that’s pretty close to what the trolls call black romance, which seems to involve a lot of fighting and strangling and trying to kill each other in bed.  Not everyone is like that, but it seems that Spades’ relationship with the Black Queen was infamous for that sort of thing (which you’re not entirely sure how WV found out, but he is pretty good at finding out things like this).  In fact, his missing eye and arm are probably related.

            Well, you were pretty nervous about that, but you figured you could probably hold your own.  You didn’t think Spades would try to kill you—not seriously, anyway—and you are pretty strong and beat him at least half the time in swordfights.  So, last night when you were watching _The Big Sleep_ and you had had enough of falling asleep yourself, you told Spades you had to go get something from the bathroom and you went in and put on these sort of lacy black things that Jade helped you pick out (you were a little embarrassed about that, but you couldn’t really ask WV for this, and Jade was really nice about it).  You put a robe on over them and headed out.  Spades turned around and told you to hurry up, kitten, you were missing the good part.  So you walked over, sat down on his lap and opened your robe before he could react.

            You did not know people’s mouths actually dropped open, but his definitely did.  He sat there, completely frozen, for about a minute.  Then he took off his trenchcoat, his shirt, and his pants, which was encouraging, even if he didn’t say anything.  Then he reached down into his pocket and pulled out his favorite knife.  You were sort of torn between being flattered (because it was his favorite) and nervous (because it was a knife).  Except then he looked you up and down, drove the knife down through his own leg, shoved you off and ran away.

            He didn’t come back, and you stayed up all night hoping he would show up, too.  So when WV’s shop opened, you came down and sniffled at him.  You didn’t _mean_ to sniffle at him, you just couldn’t seem to stop.  He has got you sitting in the best seat in Cantownese Cuisine and he keeps serving you bowls of ramen, which you pick at and don’t eat, and then he comes around, shakes his head and says he has another recipe for you to try and doesn’t listen when you say you’re really just not feeling very hungry.

            The phone at the front desk rings, and you watch as WV hurries out to answer it.  He is wearing an apron with blue bunnies on it, which you think is pretty adorable, and it makes you smile, even though it doesn’t make you stop sniffling. 

            When WV answers the phone, he looks startled and kind of angry.  You can’t really hear what he is saying over the noise of the restaurant, but he looks over at you and seems to be yelling at somebody on the other end of the line.  He’s quite upset.  He’s waving his arms around, and Serenity flies out of the kitchen and seems to be trying to make calming flashes.  Finally, WV gestures to you to come over, and you do.  You now have a pretty good idea of who is on the other end of the line, but you are trying not to get your hopes up, and besides, if it is Spades, you have just realized you are pretty mad at him.

            WV says that it is Slick and do you want to talk to him?  You think for a minute and then put out your hand for the phone.  WV pats you on the head and says that if you need him to, he can beat up Slick for you, and he will be right in the other room if you need him.  You nod, take the phone, and sniff.

            “Dollface?” Spades’ voice says on the other end.  You sniff at him. 

            “Are you okay?” he says.

            You sniff at him again and manage to say in a tiny voice, “…did I do something wrong?”

            There is a very long pause on the other end of the phone.

            “FUCK.  NO,” he says very sincerely.  “No, sweetheart, I just fucked up, that’s all.”

            “I am angry at you,” you say quietly.

            There is another pause.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I figured.  I’m sorry.  I’m a twit.”

            You give a tiny giggle. 

            “Can I make it up to you?” he asks.  “I got a room at this hotel…”  He names a pretty nice hotel that’s nearby.  He tells you if you want to you can come over and they’ll give you a key to his room.

            “…okay…” you say.  You hang up and tell WV where you are going.  WV offers to send Serenity with you, but you say you will be okay, thanks.  You are going to deliver a scolding, and you are good at delivering things.  WV looks relieved to see that you are feeling better, and you give him a big hug.  Serenity tells you that you know where to find her if you need her, and you nod and tell her thanks.

            Then you head off to deliver a scolding.  The lady at the hotel desk recognizes you and gives you the key to room 413, along with a wink.  You blush and hurry off.

            Spades is lying on the bed when you get there, and he isn’t wearing anything at all. 

            “Shut the door, for god’s sake!” he says, and that is when you remember that you are standing in the doorway and also not breathing.  You slip inside the room and remind yourself to breathe normally.

            “I figured I was pretty rude last night,” Spades says. 

            “…” you say.

            “Sorry,” he says.

            “…” you say.

            “Care to give it another shot?” he asks.  He’s starting to sound a little less sure of himself.

            “…!” you say, and then you pounce.

~

            You hate being Karkat Vantas so much, because past you is such a complete whook-niffling fucktard.  You are lying on your couch, slowly banging your head against your journal and wondering why you always make such a grub-munching mess of everything.  Maybe Jack is doing better than you.  You sure hope so.

            Your doorbell rings.  God, if it’s Jack again, you swear you’re going to stab him right in the face.  Okay, probably not.  But you really wish you could.

            You stalk over to the door and yank it open.  “WHAT!” you snap, right in John’s face. 

            FACEPALM X2 COMBO!

            John chuckles.  “Hi, Karkat!”  He pulls your hands down from your face and plants a giant kiss right on your lips.  “Oh my god, you goof!  I’d love to stay over.  Why weren’t you on pesterchum at all today?”

            You are not sure you can answer because you are too busy mentally fist-pumping and apologizing to Jack for all the names you called him in your head since last night.

~

            Shit.  She’s screaming.

            You thought you were doing so goddamn well.  You didn’t reach for a knife or anything, you let her take the lead—and god, she’s fucking amazing.  Amazing fucking.  You’re really getting your verbs turned around right now.  Or maybe you were right the first time.

            She’s screaming, and you’re pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to go.  Sure, BQ used to scream, and so did you, but that was probably the pain of the gratuitous stab wounds more than anything.

            “Dollface, you okay?” you ask.

            “You stopped.”

            “Huh?”

            “Why did you stop?”

            You…stop stopping, since she clearly wants you to.  Then you realize that what she’s screaming is your name.  Damn.  You didn’t know dames actually did that. 

            What the hell.  You start screaming her name too.


End file.
